Accident Prone
by Baffled Queen
Summary: Logan's inexplicable injuries start when he's two. Elias reflects on this, and his methods of comforting his son.


It starts when Logan is two.

He's enjoying his first quiet day in a long time. Both boys have decided to play upstairs in their bedrooms, and neither have come to bother him in at least forty-five minutes. In a second, he's going to have to remind Logan to use the potty. Elias hears a series of loud bangs and he groans. There's no telling what mischief his two little boys have gotten up to now. He's just glad they hadn't gone silent; that was what true dread felt like. That was when the really naughty things happened. Like drawing on the walls, or upending an entire five pound bag of flour onto the kitchen floor. Elias knows real terror; it was the sound of silence in a home where toddlers lived. He says it to his neighbors, and they nod wisely. Most of them have kids, after all, and the others are either single or retired.

Then Logan's wail of pain went up and his heart stopped as the blood in his veins ran ice-cold. His chair screeches along the kitchen tiles as he stands up, and his glass of water tips over and spills- no time for that right now, though. Elias does flinch when he hears the sharp sound of shattering glass, vowing to clean it up when he got back. The water splatters as it seeps off of the table and onto the floor. " _DADDY_!" David shrieks urgently from down the hall, and he sprints. One of them is dying, he's sure of it, and his heart is pounding like a mallet. Oh, please no. David's only five, Logan's only two. Logan just keeps crying and wailing, and Elias doesn't think he's ever run this fast before.

"Daddy," Logan warbles pathetically when he comes into sight "r-ran inna house." Both boys are sitting at the foot of the staircase, and the first thing Elias thinks is that he's putting the baby gate back up because he can't live like this. A hysterical laugh bubbles up in his chest when he sees them, both mostly okay. His older baby is stroking Logan's curls, a thumb firmly trapped in his mouth in an attempt to keep from crying. Logan sobs unrepentantly, fat tears rolling down pudgy cheeks, his left arm cradled to his chest and a knot already swelling up on his head. David is silent, shell shocked, and there are tears running down his cheeks, but he looks otherwise unharmed. "Oh honey," Elias croons hefting Logan up onto a hip, kissing the top of his curly head "you're alright. It's all over now."

"Davey, are you okay? No booboos?" It's probably best to err on the side of caution. David shakes his head, but he grabs the hand offered for comfort and clings tightly. Elias' heart is still pounding in his chest, but the warm hand is a comfort. He wonders briefly if that's selfish or not, mind still swirling with the things that could have happened. He gives David a quick once-over, checking for visible injuries. Thankfully, there are none. Logan hiccoughs softly, leaning against his daddy's chest. "S'just scary," his other son murmurs into Elias' cargo shorts. Sighing internally, he uses his free hand to pull David up onto his other hip. "This is why Daddy says not to run in the house, sweet boys." David nods into the side of his neck, shuddering fearfully. "Scary," he whispers once more. Elias is sure that it was.

"Okay babies, we need to walk to the kitchen so I can make sure Logan's okay. Can we do that?" Elias smiles gently down at his boys, despite the mixture of terror, relief, and anger running through him like a river. The kitchen floor is covered in glass and water when the three get back to it. Elias just sets Logan on the table and David on the floor, and begins to check for sprains. He starts looking for signs of a concussion while David hops up onto the table, eyeing the broken glass nervously. "Daddy will take care of it, sweetpea. Will you please go get the diaper bag and your shoes so we can go?" Elias asks patiently, watching him slide off of the table again and give the puddle a wide berth. Logan is somewhat potty trained, but given the events of the day taping him into a diaper is much more expedient then anything else. Logan cries as Elias scoops him up off of the table.

Likely his head hurts from the slight concussion he's nursing and the sudden movement hasn't helped the nausea. Logan stuffs his thumb in his mouth, still cranky from the loss of his pacifiers earlier that week, and snuggles into him. David comes bounding back in, bright-eyed once more, carrying the diaper bag in hand. "Daddy, where're we goin'?" his older son asks as he hands over the bag. "The doctor, honey. Logan got a big owie on his arm, and he might need a cast." Laying Logan back down, once his pants and pull-ups are removed, Elias swiftly changes him into a diaper. The little one doesn't fuss much, likely wanting to be babied after such a big fright, but he continues crying behind the thumb in his mouth.

They head out to the car once the change is done, David buckling himself into the booster proudly, but Logan shrieks in pain when he tries to guide his arm through the straps of his car seat. He bawls when he takes it back out again. He screams when the doctors try to maneuver it for the x-rays. He cries and cries until Elias eventually relents and fishes an illicit binky from its hidden spot at the bottom of the diaper bag, and then he clings to his daddy and his stuffed dinosaur. Funnily enough, he decidedly does _not_ cry later that afternoon when they stop for ice cream, but he bawls when Elias tries to take the pacifier away again. And he'd worked _so hard_ weaning him off of them, too. Rats.

His arm is broken in two places. It wouldn't affect him later in life, apparently, but he did need a cast. Logan wanted green like 'Thor', which was his dinosaur. He uses it to nail his brother on the head and back a few times, until he earned himself a spanking.

Gabe laughs his ass off when he hears about that. "Your toddler _played_ you, Elias!"

.oO0Oo.

At three, Logan has smugly kept at least two pacifiers. Elias had eventually given up trying to wean him off of them. Logan goes running by with one as he hefts the basket of clean laundry, shrieking with laughter as David rushes after him. They're both red in the face, thoroughly enjoying themselves as they tear around the house like there's nothing better to do. And there probably isn't, to be honest. It's a lazy mid-winter Sunday, David's off school, and they have no social engagements until Wednesday at least. Both boys have been climbing the walls for days, full of excitement for Christmas, but also bored because they have nothing to do and nowhere to go. He wonders if he should take them out to buy presents for each other, then decides that that would be a disaster.

Elias groans as he hears David charge up the stairs again, followed by Logan's steady plod. Once bitten, twice shy: his son was not going to make the mistake of speeding on the stairs again. Except on holidays. And when dinner was ready. And if he had to pee, but David was in the bathroom. Or if it thunder stormed and he got scared. Honestly, Logan marched to the beat of his own drum. The rules to how stairs were supposed to be climbed were a mystery to all but his son. He settles the laundry basket at the top of the stairs, pushing it to the boys' bedroom door with a foot. For a moment, Elias considers actually putting the laundry away. But with the boys awake and horsing around, it just isn't a good idea.

"Does anyone want icecream and a movie, or does Daddy get it all?" He shouts as he makes his way back downstairs and into the kitchen. "Me! Me! I want some!" David's chirpy voice echoes after him, followed by him echoing what must have been Logan's quiet request. "Leelou wants some, too, Daddy!" With a quiet chuckle, Elias pads into the kitchen and begins to scoop ice cream into bowls. David comes thundering back down the stairs, but when he slides into the kitchen in his tiger themed pj's, Logan isn't with him. Odd, but Elias just passes a bowl piled with chocolate ice cream to his little boy. A few minutes pass, and still no Logan. "Logan, get _down_ here! Your ice cream is going to melt," Elias bays in the general direction of the stairs. There's a shrill squeak, and Logan goes from trudging down the hall to dashing, eventually slipping on his socked feet and falling.

Logan lands on his hands and knees just a few feet away, where he promptly begins to bawl. Having skinned his hands and knees as he skidded across the grout, his cries become progressively shriller as his Daddy steps forward. "Oh, honey. Daddy's sorry, Logan," Elias soothes, lifting him off of the floor and into his arms. Logan presses his little face into Elias' neck and sobs. The boy is just totally inconsolable, howling and crying like nothing else matters. He begins to panic, worried that maybe the toddler'd sprained his wrist, when he's struck with an idea. With ease, Elias flips him onto his back and kisses his hands and then his knees, and as Logan hiccoughs tearfully, he yanks up the boy's shirt and blows a raspberry on his pudgy tummy. Logan squeals with laughter and snuggles into his chest, and damn if he doesn't feel like a hero.

David comes trotting in with an annoyed pout on his face, a chocolate ring around his mouth, and plants his hands on his hips. "You're missing the _moo_ -vee," he grouches, and Elias strains not to laugh. Then all of the sudden David perks up. "Can I have more ice cream, Dad-dee?" Elias can't help the deep laughs that break free, and only laughs harder at David's indignant expression.

.oO0Oo.

At five, Logan has given up his ill-gained pacifiers and begun doing things like climbing trees. Logan's so much more adventurous now that Elias feels like he always has to be on his toes. Usually David could keep him from doing anything too wild, but sometimes he was roped into the mischief as well. And of course, every so often the nine year old dragged his younger brother into something. This week's fascination is starting a fire without a lighter- a skill that they'll probably need later in life, if the tension with the Federation doesn't settle down soon. They're much too interested in Elias' job to go anywhere else, he's sure. But at six, Logan is perfectly happy being ignored by his dad as he tears around the house getting into things. He builds things using popsicle sticks and glue, drawing up diagrams for them, and then destroying them slowly (usually with a mallet, or other blunt object) to see which build is the strongest. He calls the part of the garage he uses for such activities the 'Colosseum', much to Elias' amusement.

Occasionally, he stops running around getting dirty to hug his father and eat.

Right now, though, Elias is watching David swim around in the pool, while simultaneously keeping an eye on Logan who is armed with two sticks. His technique- for this particular method of lighting a fire- is _slightly_ off, but Elias says nothing. His help is not wanted, and would be unappreciated if given. Logan yelps and crams a finger into his mouth when it gets pinched. With a snort of mild humor, Elias turns back to watching his other son fling himself into the pool, haul himself out, and run to do it again. "Don't run," he chides gently, waiting. David ignores him, slips on a puddle, falls on his butt, and bounces into the pool with a pained groan. A flurry of bubbles come up, but no child, and Elias marvels at the drama a nine year old boy can exude. There's a long stretch of near silence, broken on by the sound of two sticks rubbing together and Logan's random hums.

Suddenly David launches himself out of the water, spraying his father with droplets. "Ugh, David," he grumbles, not truly upset. Winding down from a mission was always much easier with two silly little boys around. Not so little anymore though, he thinks, reveling in the June sun. Logan gasps quietly behind him, and he's almost tempted to look. "Dad-dee, I did it!" He sounds so impressed with himself that Elias can't help but smile. "Yeah? Let me see," Elias congratulates, turning in his lawn chair to watch his little boy poke at the tiny pile of burning sticks excitedly. "Hey, Logan be careful, you don't want to burn your fingers." Of course, Logan withdraws his hand from the sticks like they house a viper. Such a good boy, his Logan. "Deedee come lookit this!" the boy orders, bare chest puffing up. Always ready to praise his little brother, David dashes over to him.

He leaves wet footprints on the pavement, and blades of grass cling to his toes. Logan is still bouncing up and down, his much larger older brother's old swim trunks slipping down a little bit. David comes to a sliding halt not quite fast enough to keep from bumping into his little brother. Logan had made a mad grab for his shorts, but they slipped down from the bouncing and when his brother crashed into him he fell on his naked bum. And then he shrieked in pain, leaping to his feet (and straight out of the swim trunks, coincidentally) leaving him naked in the yard, crying his eyes out. "Oh, oh!" David gasps "Oh, Leelou i'm sorry!" The little bundle of flaming sticks is now crushed and smoldering, but Logan pays them no mind. Instead, he goes running into Elias' arms, and hot tears dribble down his cheeks.

Elias wraps his arms around the naked boy instantly, letting him cry. "Hurts," Logan whimpers, and Elias has to repress the urge to laugh. "Poor bottom," his father sympathizes, to which Logan sniffles. "Unfortunately, Daddy doesn't kiss bottoms better," he adds, listening to the watery giggles buried in the nape of his neck. Logan had wormed his way into Elias' lap, hiding his face and drying his tears. "How become?" Logan asks, eyes glimmering as he pulls away. Of course, he sits back onto Elias' shorts, naked butt rubbing the rough fabric and sending him into another spiral of tears and hysteria. Apparently, the universe has decided that he has no better way to spend his Friday evening then by rubbing burn cream on his little boy's ass.

Logan refuses to wear any sort of pants for three days, which leads to several awkward encounters with an all too understanding elderly woman who lives next door.

The entire squad is up in arms about that one for days.

.oO0Oo.

By eight years old, Elias' baby boy has learned proper fire safety techniques. Of course, he also knows about six ways to start said fire, so it's kind of necessary. Elias has been taking them out camping more and more, in recent months. With one eye keeping a sharp watch on the political atmosphere, he knows his boys are going to need to know everything that he can stomach to teach them. So he does. And they are eager to learn it, thank god. They _want_ to go camping and learn to tie knots, they _want_ to learn how to keep a fire from smoking too badly, and how to cover up their tracks when they leave a spot. But there is _one_ point of contention in their household. David, who at eleven refused to answer to anything but Dave, had been given a pocket knife for his birthday, and Logan (whose birthday was a week ago) had not gotten one. Logan was rather put out with them all. Especially after Elias had confiscated his 'uncle Gabe's' present, which had been a knife of a caliber slightly too awesome for little hands.

A pocket knife he could understand- except for Logan, who was accident prone- but a combat knife? A military grade combat knife? Elias had had words for his old friend. Not that the older man had cared to listen to them; "Just put it away 'til the kid's older. I ain't takin' it back." Well, Logan was kicking up such a fuss that Elias had given in and bought him a little pocket knife. It was just sharp enough for a kid to be happy with, without the real danger of someone losing a finger. Pain, he feared, would be the best teacher in this instance. And anyway, he'd have to learn knife safety someday, right? Logan was overjoyed to see the blade, despite that it was considerably smaller then his older brother's, and threw his arms around Elias' middle with a gleeful "Thanks, Dad!" He just stroked his son's soft fauxhawk and hoped nothing too bad would happen.

And it doesn't, for about ten days. The eight year old, desperate to prove that he's a big kid, was more careful then Elias had ever seen him. Not that it stopped him from tripping, scraping hands and knees, twisting ankles, and winding himself in his usual clumsy fashion. Logan was taking the sharp implement pretty seriously. The accident Elias was waiting on didn't happen until after dinner time on the eleventh day. Logan was lying on the back porch, carving a piece of wood with his little knife. Every now and again Elias would hear a tiny 'ouch' when the boy nicked his finger. Nothing too serious, by the sound of it, though he was definitely making Logan wash his hands profusely before supper. "Whatcha making, Lou?" Elias calls out the back door from his place at the kitchen counter. 'Dave' is gone; at a friend's house for the weekend, much to Logan's displeasure.

"A bear, hopefully," Logan answers shortly "but whatever happens, happens." Well alright then. Someone is _clearly_ still cranky about Dave leaving for Mason's house. Elias decides that if he isn't careful then he's getting a visit from the Tickle Monster- which Logan _hates_ , being a grown up eight year old and all. He can sort of understand it though. His boys have been each other's best friend since Logan could talk, and they've pretty much never spent time apart. Which is why Elias convinced Dave to make other friends, honestly. "I'm sure it'll be great, whatever you make," He assures the boy, smiling down at the frying pan. They're having pork chops tonight, which are both Logan and Gabe's favorite. His friend seemed to have a sixth sense where the food was concerned, and just turned up whenever Elias made them. Much like tonight, Elias sighs, hearing the doorbell ring before Gabe let himself in using the spare key.

Logan leaps up from his spot on the patio, leaving both the wood and knife on the concrete, and dashes into the house. The boy skids across the hardwood floor on his socked feet, crashing into Gabe's legs with a shout. Logan, in turn, has a sixth sense where his favorite 'uncle' was concerned. Everything is fine through dinner; Logan grumbles about washing his hands, Logan washes his hands, and they all eat pork chops without his first born son. The problem was after dinner. The little lad begrudgingly 'did the dishes' (Elias would have to take care of the pots and pans later) while the two men flopped onto the couch and arm chair respectively, sipping at a pair of beers. As soon as the last plate was in the dishwasher, he closed the door and went dashing out onto the back porch to finish his project before the sun went down. A feeling of cosmic dread washes over Elias as the boy tears outside.

Indeed, not even three seconds later there's a shriek of sheer childish agony that stops Gabe's amused chuckles in their tracks. The big man vaults over the couch before even Elias, dashing out the back door. Elias finds his son chewing his thumb in pain, tears dribbling down his face, his pocket knife having deeply cut the bottom of his foot. "Oh, hell," He sighs, distracting the boy just long enough for Gabe to scoop him up and carry him to the kitchen counter. "Elias, this is gonna need stitches, probably an antibiotic just the be on the safe side," he rumbles incredulously "how the hell did he do this with that little knife?" The nurse at the hospital threatens to call CPS on Elias until Logan's doctor vouches for him, because of the sheer magnitude of Logan's file. Gabe laughs his ass off through the whole fiasco, watching Elias' face change colors as the nurse scowls.

Logan's foot gets seven stitches from the doctor, Elias gets a heart attack from the nurse, and Gabe gets a laugh out of the pair of them. He buys them dessert, though, so it's fine.

.oO0Oo.

The spring after Logan turns eleven, just before Dave turns fifteen, Elias begins to make camping more difficult. He makes them carry more, weighing down their packs, and even sabotages their supplies. With several years of their dad preparing them for such scenarios under their belts, they take to it like fish to water. He makes them take empty canteens to fill for themselves, or spirits away their foodstuffs in the night. Makes them get 'lost', and follows behind them at a distance so as not to get caught. And it turns out okay, really. Dave, who was searching desperately for a tough-sounding nickname, leads his brother through their trials with a straight back and a stiff upper lip. Logan follows behind him happily, glad to be included, and doesn't mind taking his cues from the older boy. Sometimes they get injured, but for the most part they're just minor. His boys relish in the trust he affords them, taking care of each other. Watching each other's backs. Learning to read each other; to speak without speaking.

Logan has never been a very verbose child, but now that they can all speak without words his voice becomes a precious commodity saved for special occasions. Elias watches his boys gain muscle, until the puppy fat they had melts away and they're lean. Dave loves camping- loves training, really. His older son likes to feel needed, likes to feel strong. Despite their young age, they're a lot more competent then some people Elias has met. But they are still children, and sometimes he forgets that. Just thinking about it makes him feel guilty, a memory of a time he'd reduced Logan to tears surfacing. Right now they're just taking a hike, just chatting casually about making basic traps. Logan's trailing behind him and Dave, staring up at the treetops- probably thinking of making a tree fort. Elias smiles to himself and continues his chat with his other son, knowing that the younger boy is listening.

Eventually, the hike leads them to a crossroads and they end up having to choose the path to take. With a shrug, they swing left and leave the other road untraversed. It leads them outcropping of boulders, where Elias and Dave flop down to have a drink and a rest. The sun is warm of their backs, and Elias can't think of anywhere he'd rather be. Several minutes pass, the pair waiting for Logan to catch up to them, but he never does. "Logan?" Dave calls, and they both pause to listen. Nothing. They both spring to their feet, Elias launching himself back down the path and Dave following after. If it had been Dave who'd gotten lost, Elias thinks, there wouldn't be cause for worry. But Logan is a trouble magnet, and every second that he's out of sight is another potential injury for the eleven year old. The come back to the crossroads, and Elias bolts down the path they hadn't taken, blood roaring in his ears.

"Logan? Logan, honey, where are you?" His voice is higher then it's been since he was a child himself, and shrill with worry. Because it had rained heavily the night before, and there's a creek rushing in it's bed just a few yards ahead of him, the path bending around it. This is worse then when Logan was two. This is the worst thing that's ever happened to him in his life; all that Elias can think is 'please, god, not my baby, not my son.' Dave slams into his back and his son's face whitens as he sees where his gaze is locked. Logan, they both know, is not a strong swimmer- simply because he was self-taught. "Logan?" Dave calls, and his voice is so soft, so scared and small "Logan, please don't be gone. I _need_ you." His heart breaks at the sound, but all he can say is that it doesn't look like anyone's fallen in. It's a sore comfort for his frightened son. Neither of them know what to believe.

They both follow the path in terrified silence, hoping Logan hadn't fallen into the river in his inobservance. After a ways, footprints make themselves out in the rain-softened earth. Elias picks up the pace, jogging after the footprints. The path that they're on takes a sharp turn and the footprints skid through the light layer of mud at the turn and end a print of someone's jeans followed by a skidmark where they'd apparently skidded down a steep hillside. In a slight valley, surrounded by short (though steep) hills, is a small figure lying on their side. "Logan?" Elias calls hopefully, heart rising as the tow-headed figure of his son pops up, red faced and tear-stricken. "Da-had?" Logan hiccoughs, staring up at them. Elias hears Dave sob with relief behind him as he slides down the muddy hill on his ass. It's a swift ride, but these pants are irreparably ruined now. Somehow, he can't find it in himself to care once his son is in his arms again.

"Um, Dad?" Logan asks in his quiet voice, after several minutes of silence and hugging. "Yeah, baby boy?" Elias can feel the grimace against his shoulder for that comment, but he hears Dave give a watery laugh from the top of the hill. "My ankle is turning purple, and my shoulder really hurts."

Logan gets a nastily sprained ankle and a dislocated shoulder, but he's alive. The nurse glares at him again, and this time it really hurts him. For the first time, Elias wonders if he's doing the right thing.

(that doesn't stop him from getting both boys proper swimming lessons- Logan is the better of the two)

.oO0Oo.

Logan is thirteen. It's mid-July of 2015. Gabe is dead. Logan and Elias cry on and off for weeks- months. David learns to cook from necessity. Nothing is the same.

.oO0Oo.

It's July 10, 2017; Logan's fifteen, and they're finally old enough to hear his story. They all perch on logs and rocks, sweaty from their hike. In later years, Elias will remember the heat, and the way the light dappled his sons through the leaves. He will remember how happy they were, how unprepared, and how very young. He will remember his younger son's voice, long lost with his childhood. Remember his older son's smile, before it even knew how to turn shark-like and menacing, eyes sharp. For now, though, nothing is wrong and nothing matters. He tells his story, watching them shift excitedly and shiver with delight. The highest irony is that David, who at sixteen had decided to be called Hesh, doesn't even believe him. His younger son, however gazes at him with those sharp eyes of his. Those thin eyebrows furrow as he thinks, before he looks Elias dead in the eye. Logan gives him a soft nod, falling off the log he's perched on when the ground shakes beneath them.

Hesh roars with laughter at the startled look on his face, but he still reaches out a hand to help him up. "Poor, clumsy bay-bee," the teen mocks gently, hauling his much shorter brother to his feet. "Let's head home and hit the showers, boys," Elias suggests, paying the tremor no mind. They groan playfully, but trot after him nonetheless. As they're walking, another, bigger tremor strikes, sending Logan sprawling once more. "I guess there'll be a couple more before they stop," Hesh says as he helps his brother to stand again, and something like an icy hand grips the back of Elias' neck. "Let's go make sure nothing got broken, okay?" he asks, suddenly pensive. A few more tremors roll under their feet as they jog towards home. They break free of the woods just in time to see another ODIN strike hit miles away, sending them all flying and cracking the pavement under their feet.

"What was that? Dad?" Logan sounds calm, but there's a steely undertone that belies his nervousness. He tells them that it's ODIN, not that they know what that means, he tells them to get to the house while he gets the truck. Elias tells them to grab what they want to take while they're there, because they won't be coming back. He tells them to be safe, be quick. He tells them that he loves them. His legs are longer, stronger then theirs. They get left behind him as he runs, more capable of it then they are, and he turns back just in time to see them dash into the yard and through the door. Thank god. By the time he gets the truck up and running another rod has hit, this one closer then the others. The ground cracks, and he finds himself swerving among panicked civilians trying to escape. He sees his boys, watches them jump onto a roof, green and blue backpacks slung over their shoulders.

Elias pulls ahead in the truck, knowing that it'll be useless if the roads get too bad, and hopes for the best. There's screaming, there's sirens, there are explosions not too far away where gas lines are going up. He can hear children wailing, dogs barking, a few cars swerve out of the way as the pavement is tossed up yet again, another rod coming down. They're getting closer, he knows, and all he can do is hope his sons are okay. Oh _please_ be okay. The ground rumbles below him, and he presses the gas pedal down to the floor. He can do this, his boys can do this. Things will get hard, get so very hard, but if he can just keep them together... It'll all turn out okay in the end. His heart is still thrumming in his chest, as though trying to escape, but he steadies himself. If he just stays calm, he can make sure they all survive. That's a bit of a comfort, but now that he can't see his kids it doesn't help much.

The progress he makes along the roadway is slow and little; he's been driving maybe eight minutes now, and he hasn't even left the neighborhood. Not that he would have, without his kids, but it fairly screams the state of things to him. He hears a shout behind him, words not quite distinguishable. Then he sees them, in the rearview mirror, catching up. Hesh, backpack now soot stained, and Logan behind him with his pack on his front. Smart boys; he wonders what the grabbed. A confused tanker swerves around him, driving in the wrong direction, and it hits a piece of dislocated road and rolls. Hesh throws himself out of harm's way and into the grass, but Logan gets hit as it slides into him and flies a few feet before hitting the pavement with an almighty crack of his head. No. Why is it always his baby getting hurt? Why not anyone else? Why his son, why his little boy?

He helps Hesh carry Logan to the truck, sets his sons in the truck bed before climbing into the cab. "Keep him awake," Elias says shortly, shutting the door and pressing the gas. Logan's eyes were open, yes, but unfocused as well. They lolled in their sockets, drifting over everything, and if you spoke it took him several long moments to reply. Several of his ribs were likely broken, and he was heavily concussed, propped up against his brother's chest. Another ODIN strike streams from the sky, slamming to the earth not five miles away. Elias just keeps driving northeast. Everything is going to change from here, he knows. His boys' childhoods are as good as over.

.oO0Oo.

At seventeen, Logan is not that same youth. Logan is changed, Elias knows. He sees it in the way the boy hunches over his food, arm curled around it protectively. He sees it in the way he exercises- more then he ever had before, harder and longer. Elias sees it in the way his baby boy wakes up screaming in the night, crying for a brother who was deployed and gone. And it hurts, even as he keeps Logan closer then ever before, because his son should be searching for colleges, should be in his junior year of high school. Not on a secluded army base, where his dad's coworkers have to pretend they aren't Ghosts, and where he can't leave. He can't leave, and that's _it_. That's what causes the problems; that, and Elias refusing to tell him about the true dangers, wanting to preserve the last of his rapidly waning innocence. Logan gets cabin fever, gets angry with him when he refuses to let him go out. Logan doesn't know about the target on his back, just for being his father's son.

Elias hasn't told him. So they fight, Logan angry for being cooped up, Elias afraid for his child's well-being.

Kick, Neptune, Ajax- they all try to keep him entertained while they're recovering from various wounds, but it doesn't help in the end. Keegan tries teaching him how to operate a sniper rifle when he passes through, Merrick teaches him to sharpen and throw knives on a rare break, Ajax teaches him increasingly more creative swears, but in the end it isn't enough. Under literally any other circumstances, Elias would be proud of his son for this. Proud of his independence and observational skills, proud of his quiet steps and sly dodges. He would have been so damned _proud_ of his son for sneaking out of a hidden FOB run solely by special operatives. But a Logan is a Logan is a Logan: a trouble magnet, accident prone, too-small-for-his-age _child_. That's something that hits them all like a brick to the face. How young Logan is. How vulnerable. How immature.

He's so quiet, so serious these days that the others often forget that he isn't a peer, isn't a fellow squad member. And Elias is guilty of that too, of forgetting that Logan is still just a boy. That his son isn't even old enough for Basic Training. These are... real problems, and more evident then ever. Forgetting like that leads to these scenarios. Forgetting his youth leads to misunderstandings like this, because Hesh would have taken him at his word if he said not to leave. Because Hesh was an adult. Because Hesh knew the potential consequences. But Logan, who he had been simultaneously sheltering and pressuring in all of the most unhealthy ways, did not. Because Logan was a child. Because Logan had no clue, not even an _inkling_ of what could happen to him. So Logan, in the fashion of all teens rebelling against their parents, slips out of the base in the middle of the day.

Elias feels a rock settle heavily in his stomach. Logan's beloved green backpack was gone too, Logan carrying it with him. And Elias has no way to contact his son, know way to see if he's alright. This has the makings of a clusterfuck, and all he can do is hope and pray that Logan comes back safely. Because there is a war going, and his life is no longer his own. None of them can leave to look for Elias' wayward son. A day passes, then two, then a week, and that's when they get the call. Just like when Logan cut his foot all those years ago, Elias has a sudden rush of infinite, acute terror that sends him running to the command center. Grim is back at his usual post, having returned two days ago, his tall frame hunched over his console. His face is pale and bloodless as he stares at a screen. "Incoming transmission from an unknown frequency. Engage?" Elias closes his eyes tightly for a few seconds before schooling his features. "Affirmative; try to pin down the location, if possible."

There's a soft pause. "Connecting in three," the other says, and Elias shivers, the dread from just a few minutes before washing over him again. "Elias Walker," a heavily accented voice purrs from the projection on the wall. The small camera pointed at Elias gives away nothing of their position. "I have something you might want," the man continues, smirking at him through the feed. It strikes Elias in an instant; this is Mendoza. A man notorious for his cruelty. No. "You see, I have here one of your sons." _No_.

"You'd like him back, no?" yes, god anything. His kingdom for his son's life. Elias knows that it's Logan, because of two things. The first is that Mendoza's been spotted in the surrounding region recently, and the other is that Hesh is nowhere near by.

"It's been five days, Elias Walker, and I'm sure you want to see your boy." More then anything. "Indeed," is all he says, trying to quash his fear. He cannot show weakness to this man. Today he must be important, strong, capable. This man has to know that he can and will do anything. That _he_ is the one in control here. The camera shakes briefly, as the other lifts it from its place and turns it around. Logan is barely restrained: his hands are ziptied together, and one ankle is a mottled green and yellow, but that's it. His boy looks worse for wear- soft, round face is purple with bruises, one eye swollen shut and lip split. His hands are fine, but his arms are covered in little burns, and his once pristine t-shirt is stained with vomit. "Say hello to your daddy, Logan," Mendoza coos, mocking his frightened son. Logan just whimpers quietly.

They go back and forth, negotiating, for nearly an hour. The whole time, Logan is staring at Mendoza's back, deliberating. Logan climbs to his feet in silence, face twisting at the pain it causes his ankle. Elias can feel his heart fluttering in his chest, silently urging his son to run. Instead, the boy frees his hands from the zipties by tightening them and breaking them against his waist. His little boy slinks slowly towards a creaky table, taking Mendoza's infamous revolver off of its polished wood surface, and shoots Mendoza twice in the head. Elias flinches as Logan takes one look at the rapidly cooling body and promptly vomits. He collapses to the ground, sobbing quietly and clutching his arms around his center mass as tightly as he can.

Grim is even paler then before at the sight, blood splattering the floor, pooling in a halo around the dead man's head, but he says only this. "We have coordinates,"

Logan's nightmares get worse, but he carries away only a few broken ribs and a bruised tail bone. He also doesn't leave Elias' side for months, choosing to crawl into his bed every night.

.oO0Oo.

"Daddy," Logan sobs into his chest, clinging tightly to him in the darkness "Daddy I s-s-s _hot_ him, and he's _dead_ , and I _killed_ him, Daddy. And he's d-huh-ead, dead, and _I killed him_. Da- _ddy_!" Elias just holds him close.

.oO0Oo.

At twenty one, Logan's killed way more then one man who beat him badly for days beforehand. Elias still regrets that day with his whole heart. He is not god, he can only know so much. If he had known, he wouldn't have gone about things the way he did. Logan had grown a lot since then, had officially joined the army. They'd held him for special operations given his talent for languages and deep love of math. He was so _proud_ of his son when he found out; and he _did_ find out. Anything going on with his sons eventually made it back to him in some way or another. Other Captains touching base with the Ghost squad usually had an anecdote or two concerning them, which he found amusing. Hesh miraculously catching a falling man after his ropes were cut by Feds on a cliffside. Logan vanishing into the mist and appearing like a wraith only to disappear, leaving a trail of bodies behind.

Hesh tearing a fed's throat out with his teeth, eyes wild with bloodlust. Logan coming up with a wild, desperate strategy that works well enough it becomes a standard procedure, pulling it off like there was never a doubt. Hesh doing bullshit action movie stunts, like lying on one side of a log while Feds rest on it facing the other way. Logan getting the absolute ever-loving shit kicked out of him by an absolute behemoth of a Fed- "Wait, what?!" Elias squeaks faintly, heart skipping a beat. His fellow Captain, a man aptly named Bellows, repeats himself happily "Oh, yeah; that little blond kid they sent me got the shit kicked out of him. The fucker musta been 7 feet tall, and broad as a doorway no joke. The way he was laying into the kid like that, I wouldn'ta been surprised if he hadn't gotten back up afterwards. I thought he was dead for a bit, actually, he was layin' so still."

There's a frozen vice grasping Elias' insides, and he feels like hurling. "But _damn_ if he ain't a scrappy little thing. Couldn't pick hisself up, o' course, but he was crackin' jokes left and right," Bellows actually sounds impressed, which he knows is a feat in and of itself. Then he seems to notice the absolutely terrified expression on Elias' face, and his listing of Logan's injuries trails to a halt. "Oh, hell," Elias breathes "oh, Logan." And that seems to get Bellows' attention. Because his eyes dart towards Elias' lapels, and he pales dramatically. "Shit," Bellows says plainly, a slight tremble hidden below the surface "you'd better go, huh? He's in the infirmary, uh, obviously." No shit, Elias thinks, and his feet can't carry him fast enough.

The hallways of the base he's visiting blur together as he moves, going silently along the nearly abandoned corridors. It's two in the morning, his feet are echoing where they fall, and his baby is hurt _again_. It's not a new thing, not for Logan, but every time an Incident happens Elias can almost feel the pain like it's his own. Because that's his baby, his little boy. David is his strong son, the one who wants to hear that he's doing the right thing and have a shoulder to lean on sometimes, but mostly wanting to soar on his own. David is sure of himself in a way his brother has never been, because David, as the big brother, has always made himself to be. Logan is capable, yes, but unlike his brother who needs occasional reassurance, Logan _dwells_. And on every mistake he's ever made, at that.

Both of his sons are strong, so strong that he almost can't imagine. Because when he thinks of them he sees the little boys that they were, just behind the men that they are. They are strong, and able. Sometimes it feels like they don't _need_ him anymore, and he tells himself that that's fine because they _want_ him. But sometimes it escapes him, slips behind the essence of 'big' that they both exude, that Logan is only 5' 2". His personality is big, just like his brother's, but David is actually large. And Logan seems so very, very small compared to his brother who is an entire foot taller then him. And Elias is an inch taller then David. But it's never been so obvious as it is now.

Logan looks so little in the hospital bed- he's sleeping of course, the morphine helping him along. His face looks like one big bruise, all purple and black, his right arm in a cast and one leg heavily bandaged at the thigh from a gunshot wound. "Oh, Logan, honey," he breathes, and his heart aches. According to the chart at the foot of his bed, he has four broken ribs and his clavicle is heavily bruised. His arm had been dislocated as well as broken, and the gunshot wound on his thigh was not the only bullet hole in him. There were two more, thankfully minor, and a few grazes. His son was obviously, irrevocably, painfully, frighteningly lucky to be alive. He could have lost one of his babies and not even known.

Elias sits in the uncomfortable chair at the side of Logan's hospital bed and breaks down weeping.

.oO0Oo.

Elias guides both of his sons through No Man's Land. Logan is twenty four, and already so haggard and tired. They're a good team, his boys, and Hesh has an eagle eye. Logan, however, is the one who posits that the wreckage the Feds are pawing through must be ODIN. And that frightens him, because it makes too much sense. The mission moves swiftly; his boys aren't rookies any more, and they know who they're looking for. Logan guides Riley through fields of waving grass, allowing them to find the safest route, and then they spot him. It's Gabe, it can't be, and yet it is, taunting Ajax before ordering a truck away. Oh, no. His gut clenches fearfully, even as he orders the men on base to be on guard.

Not even three hours later, and he knows he's right. It isn't Gabe anymore at all. This man is a monster.

Logan ends up getting stabbed, both boys loyally making their way to where they thought he'd be. He ends up leaning heavily on Keegan in the helicopter while he tells the tale of how his best friend died.

Hours later, in the dark, Logan clings to him in the darkness and cries with him. Hesh curls against them both for support.

.oO0Oo.

"Are you gonna drop me again, Elias?" Rorke snarls over the howling wind, just to hurt him, and something inside him snaps.

.oO0Oo.

Elias has never felt so stupid in his life, never felt so used. Because it really _had_ been too easy. Logan had protested, said as much, but Elias hadn't listened and it would probably cost them their lives if they weren't careful. He is falling through the air, helpless as a bird in a storm, and the wind whips at his face. Elias pulls the cord for the parachute, eyes scanning over the others. Keegan, Merrick, Hesh, plane parts, plane parts, plane part- Logan slams into some falling debris with a loud cry and goes pinwheeling off course in another direction, even as he claws for his 'chute. It deploys, he knows that much, but he loses sight of his son not long after. He sees just enough to know that Logan had gone totally limp.

The trees snagging on the parachute jolt him out of his shock, and he cuts himself free with utter desperation. He hits the ground with a groan and a curse mumbled under his breath. 'I'm too damn old for this,' Elias thinks, crawling through brush and twigs to avoid any potential enemy interference. His lips are cracked and dry; partly from dehydration, mostly from stress. It takes fifty precious minutes for him to jimmy the wires of his communicator back into position. "This is Scarecrow, confirming. Anybody out there?" He breathes into the battered microphone, hoping against hope. "This is Ghost Two-Two, confirming. How copy?" Merrick. "Jesus, Mer', always so formal. Russ, confirming." Keegan's easy quip gets a quiet huff of laughter from him, but inside his heart is pounding.

There's a brief crackle of static, followed by a high-pitched whine that sees him cringing. "-esh confirming. I repeat, Hesh confirming. Ears on, fellas?" Oh, thank god. That's one load off of his chest. Merrick rumbles that he sees Hesh on the tracker and is moving towards him. Keegan appears by his side, nearly spooking him, and nods. Feds are already swarming the area, practically frothing at the mouth to be the lucky schmuck who brings Rorke a Ghost. "Anyone seen Logan?" He asks quietly, and Hesh answers. "I saw him get snagged on some trees," his son murmurs, and Elias feels his heart clench in concern. The words catch in his throat, but he manages to breathe out a quick "Logan, if you can hear me, use your tracker and move towards us," as a Fed soldier's boots pass by his head.

It takes a nerve-wracking thirty minutes or so for Logan to appear from the brush. He's white in the face and his left ankle is nastily swollen. When they finally escape from Rorke and the jungle, Logan is immediately shuffled into the infirmary once more. By Merrick. Who stands by the only exit with his arms crossed over his chest and glares at his son when he tries to leave. Logan has several microfractures spread near evenly among his ribs, along with the severely sprained ankle and moderate concussion. Elias sighs in relief. For Logan, that was almost mild.

.oO0Oo.

Everything gets shot straight to Hell from there.

.oO0Oo.

Elias is practically _burning_ to go after Rorke. Just desperate to hunt him like an animal and put him down like a rabid dog. No one threatens his sons. But they have a duty, and even he has higher-ups. Logan, Hesh, Keegan, Merrick, and Kick all take off on Operation Clockwork, which has nothing to do with clocks. He knows Logan was right, that day they went after Ajax, when he sees the rockets. The Federation is building their own version of ODIN. And if they succeed, the war is over. Elias is so very, very afraid. Logan gets a bullet graze, but nothing else happens. That worries him.

All the while, thoughts of his old friend hound him. The 'why' is obvious, is unfair. But 'how' and 'when' loom over Elias, because he knows that Rorke hates him above all the others. And he knows that he's next.

.oO0Oo.

Elias sends Keegan and Logan out to sink a Federation Destroyer. There are a couple of ways, he reasons, that it could have gone wrong. Logan could have been drowned, discovered by Feds, or attacked by a predator- like a shark. What happens is naturally _worse_ then anything that would happen to a _normal_ human being. Logan, Elias has decided, must have been cursed at an early age. Maybe even before he was born. That's the only reasonable explanation for all these years of bad luck. When Keegan had whispered to his baby to mind the sharks, he's worried. Nothing to fear from sharks apparently. Logan's quiet murmuring about the sonar pulses sees his blood running cold. All for nothing; Logan maybe gets a headache.

The real danger comes from, of all things, a fucking _lighthouse_. Both operatives manage to help each other along until they manage to sink the Destroyer, and then a fucking lighthouse falls on his son. Keegan's muffled swearing over the comms nearly kills him, when paired with Logan's terrified gurgles as he drowns. There are few worse feelings then the ones you experience when listening to your child die. His old friend's frantic, semi-panicked actions end up saving Logan's life, but they still have to escape to the exfil point. Now that their enemies know that someone is there, the job becomes much more difficult. Sneaking around only works so well, and eventually they're forced to engage.

Elias holds his breath, heart pounding in his chest as he's forced to wait helplessly on the sidelines. Hours later, Keegan carries Logan to the infirmary. His son lies limp and unconscious in the older man's arms. Elias, as his team's old combat medic, helps the doctors and nurses there cut his son's wetsuit off. Logan's chest is a horrifying mess of purple, ribs broken, cracked, and bruised. There's a huge gash on one of Logan's arms where he'd tried to pull it free, and the other is broken as well, and Elias wants to cry. Instead he forces the emotions away, helping one nurse peel the ruined wetsuit off of his son's lower body. Nothing much wrong there, thankfully, save for having to remember past wound when he sees the scars.

They send him away after they finish bathing the salt water and blood off of his son, and then they check for internal bleeding.

It's a long, long night for Elias and Hesh, just waiting for news.

.oO0Oo.

Logan destroys the Atlas oil platform with the others, and doesn't get a single injury. Elias knows what's coming, even if he doesn't know how he knows.

Sleep is hard to come by.

.oO0Oo.

Vegas is a trap.

When Elias regains consciousness, Merrick is nowhere to be seen, Logan lies limply in his bonds across from him, and as his head swims he vaguely registers Hesh snarling profanities and threats to Rorke's smug, smirking face. As soon as he straightens out, Rorke turns a viciously pleased grin in his direction. "Well, good _morning_ , sunshine," the big man rumbles sarcastically, slipping around behind him and stroking the side of his face with a rough thumb "long time, no see." And oh, what he wouldn't give to go back in time and say some things he hadn't. Do some things he didn't. Hesh is red with indignation, venom practically dripping from his mouth. "Rorke," Elias says steadily, staring straight ahead. He knows the rules of interrogation, twice as well as most, maybe. He knows that Logan is in danger here, and also that Rorke wants him.

He knows he is expendable. He knows he will die here. Shamed, scared, and trapped, like an animal, by his ex-best friend.

Logan stirs at the sound of his voice, but does not wake. Good. Let his baby be innocent just that much longer. That's another funny thing, he thinks as he listens to Rorke wax philosophical about betrayal. You never quite know innocence until you lose it. And there's always some more to lose. "Aww, look at the baby sleeping," he fairly purrs into Elias' ear, and Elias hears the threat there. The promise. Logan's brows furrow in his sleep, biting his lip briefly, before sighing and slumping. "Damn," Rorke grouches mockingly "and here I thought we were _finally_ gonna have our little family reunion." This is going to destroy Logan. This will _kill_ his sweet, empathetic little boy, and turn him into something else. Hesh will be strong, and will look for Justice where his strength fails him. He will lean on his brother when he cannot stand.

But Logan will change like Operation Sand Viper changed him. Logan is going to be so harsh, so cold and angry. His baby will die, and a bitter man will claw his way out of the still-smoldering ashes. And Elias will not be able to comfort him, because he will be dead. Logan and Hesh will cry, and wake screaming in the night, because Rorke will _kill him in front of_ _them_. They will watch the light and life fade from his eyes, and they will be changed, and he will not be there to comfort them. Not like when they were toddlers, when a soft touch, a kiss, and a silly face could save the day. Not like when they were kids and trusted him implicitly with their safety, believing if he said he'd fix it.

Not like when they were teens, and needed him to show them how to fix their mistakes and forgive themselves.

Not like when they are men, alone and frightened, clinging to each other like they'll disappear if they let go.

They will hurt, and he cannot help them.

Elias wants to weep. He wants to scream, and fight, and protect. He will gladly give his life for them, and today he knows he will, but he cannot kiss this booboo away. There is no way to be Super Daddy and fix everything with a cuddle. Because this will break them. Haunt them, for the rest of their lives with 'what if's and hideous nightmares. Logan stirs, soft brown eyes flittering open, and Elias wants to sob and cry and break down. "Looks like the gang's all here, hey Elias?" That voice is like a dagger to the heart, that smooth sarcasm a device of torture, because he could have loved it dearly, in another life. But he hates it so deeply, for what it will do to the one good thing Elias had ever done.

"Where's Keegan." It's not even a question. They both know that this 'interrogation' is just a front for his execution. Rorke doesn't give a shit about where Keegan is, not right now, when he has everything he wants in front of him. They both know. Logan, his brave, brave boy is already working his hands free of the knots. That's another thing they both know. This is a test for his son. Because Rorke wants to use him. To bend, break, and rebuild him.

Elias will shield him one last time, protect him from this. "Fuck you," he says calmly, and then his head is snapping back as Rorke's fist collides with his chin, spitting his own blood into his murderer's face. He is so calm. Elias had thought death would _stop_ him, would rock him to his core and freeze him in his tracks. But instead he is calm, because this will buy his sons time. He has given everything to prepare them. They are better, young and untested, then he ever was at his height. They aren't yet strengthened by fire, for this is the forge. They are white faced and frightened by Rorke's manner. How loud he is. How 'big'.

Once, Elias had thought his sons were 'big'. But if they ever were, Rorke is a giant. Rorke stretches to the sky before him, and he feels like a mortal gone to war against some ancient war-god of old. He looks at them, through a sheen of blood and sweat and Rorke prowls around the trio in a circle, and for a second he can't see the men they've become. Today they are just children. Too young for this, too small. Just little boys. His babies. Logan doesn't even seem big enough to sit by himself, let alone watch his old, tired father die.

Elias is so calm, but so very _scared_. He will leave them. He has prepared them, but he will _never know_ if it was _enough_. Logan trembles as Rorke strokes the back of his neck with one huge hand, and Elias sees red. He knows a rage that he has never touched even the barest fringes of, the righteous rage of a protector. Rorke does not have the right to torment his kid. Hesh snarls and screams, like a child throwing a fit, when he sees Logan's stricken face, and Rorke roars a laugh as he pulls away. He looks the other in the eyes, and a message passes between them.

You do not touch him.

Logan is coiled in the chair now, waiting for the moment Rorke dares turn his back. Elias sees the second the big man realizes, finds it in the glee in those dark eyes. Rorke pulls his pistol and shoots him in the chest. He feels his mouth stretch open, he hears the cry, but it seems Other. Hesh shrieks " _No_! You son of a bitch!" but Logan, brave, too-small-for-his-age Logan launches himself from his rickety chair and tries to tackle Rorke, to grab the pistol. Something deeply pleased flashes through his great enemy's eyes as he wrestles Logan down and uses his boy's hands to shoot him twice again.

It's like watching a child try to stop an armed robbery. Cute in a tragic way, yes, and very brave. But also utterly hopeless. It's like watching a man try to move a mountain.

At first his whole body is hot, hot as hell, and pain like a brand against his chest and belly, but then he is cold all over. Rorke cuffs his baby about the head, and distantly he hears David crying wordlessly. It is so unfair that they have to be here, to see this. They're just children, just his babies, and it isn't fair.

But even as Rorke tips him out of the chair and onto the floor, even as he plants that heavy boot on the side of his head, he gazes into Logan's tear-laden brown eyes and whispers "I'm so proud of you," and it rings true like an ancient prophecy, a heavy 'I love you,' hidden beneath, and Logan sobs in time with his brother

and he is _so_ proud, so _proud_ , _so proud_ , and he _loves_ them and he is _so prou_ -

.oO0Oo.

Logan screams and is broken.

* * *

HAHAHA, you though this was going to be cute, _didn't_ you. So did _I_. I was not prepared for my emotional ruin.

Oh my god, so let me tell you about this monster. I started writing this fucker in early march, okay. It doesn't even resemble the original idea I had for it. I hit block after wall after stop, but then I said 'fuck, let's just let it write itself,' and this is what you got. Cute baby walkers, an ode to growing up, the pains of a parent who can no longer comfort their child, and existential realization. Shit. Those last few hundred words absolutely destroyed me.

Please for the love of sweet jesus in heaven review this work of my heart. Thanks.


End file.
